Dissecting A Man Called Ove

Don’t worry, no men called Ove will be harmed and no physical guts revealed in this post, but we will expose some of the techniques Frederik Backman used to craft his breakout novel, A Man Called Ove:

he told a compelling “domestic” story without An Antagonist

he made omniscient point of view feel as intimate as first person.

he masterfully wove past and present.

Therese has asked the WU Breakout Novel Book Dissection group–a group that gets together 4 times a year on Facebook, and was founded following the first WU UnConference–to bring what we’re talking about to the wider WU community, to broaden the discussion. The group asks the same questions of the novels we tackle that Donald Maass asks us to apply to our own work in Writing the Breakout Novel—for those of us who’ve sat through even one of Don’s teaching sessions, it’s rather thrilling to apply the thumbscrews to a story that’s not our own.

But please note that we cannot dissect something without exposing the insides. Consider yourself warned:

SPOILERS AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

The novel is about Ove, a curmudgeonly widower trying to kill himself in as honorable and neat a fashion so his dead wife won’t be upset with him, but whose honor winds up dragging him into the lives of his neighbors and bringing him the connection and sense of purpose he’d been lacking. So when we came to the question, “Why do the antagonists feel justified and right in their perspective?” we had a tough time answering it.

Opposition? Yes. Antagonist? Not really.

Priya Gill got at the essence of our difficulty: “I didn’t see any real antagonist. Other than life itself and the perception of it.”

Given the volume of writing advice devoted to developing the antagonist, this felt odd, but a number of the books we’ve dissected have lacked one. In fact, Maass, himself, says that, “Sometimes the antagonist in a breakout novel is nothing more than life itself” (Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook, p.68).

There are numerous scene antagonists, some of whom arc through sections of the book, but no one person thwarts Ove throughout. Yet most of us were drawn into his story and devoured the book.

There is plenty of conflict, and the forces of bureaucracy (“men in white shirts” who care for rules more than people) create escalating problems, but Ove is mostly fighting his grief, his anger at how the world is leaving men like him behind, his isolation—and about a thousand daily irritants. But given that the story is structured by his suicide attempts, Ove is in a life-and-death fight. John Kelley said, “I think it is clear the real struggles in this novel were internal, and Ove’s life provided all the fodder necessary to hold one’s interest.”

So how did this crank who takes a daily walk around his neighborhood, literally kicking posts and grumbling about the failings of the people around him, hold our interest? How did Backman do it?

Warm Omniscient Point of View

We were discussing emotional layers, and whether the author revealed emotion in ways other than naming them or expected responses (answer was a resounding yes) when Jocosa Wade talked about how Backman created “an omniscient story that read as if it was first person. Oh, so personal.”

In trying to unpack how Backman managed this, Jan O’Hara made this observation:

I think it was a core strength of the writer’s voice…Omniscient tends to be more scientific and detached, but if the narrator views the characters with genuine affection, I think that perspective creeps in sideways. There’s a generosity created. I suspect a cynical person, telling the same story in omniscient, would have Ove come across as sullen and petty rather than honor-bound and misguided. So a cool POV altered by a warm human being at the other end of the pen.

Given that Backman was writing about an emotionally dry, frequently wordless, angry and anti-social man, how did his use of omniscient read so warm?

He wrote great descriptions without regard to what Ove might observe. Here’s how we met Ove: “He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s torch.” Jan observed: “the image is on theme in that policemen are the arbiters of what is right and wrong, like Ove. Succinct, visceral, and brilliant.”

He brought out Ove’s tenderness: Ove caressed his wife’s tombstone as if he were stroking her cheek. When his wife became paralyzed, he carried her up and down the stairs in their house, loving how her nose burrowed into his collarbone. We also got the benefit of Ove’s wife’s thoughts about him:

She nagged him for years about moving into the empty downstairs guest room, but Ove refused. After a decade or so she realized that this was his way of showing her that he had no intention of giving up. That God and the universe and all the other things would not be allowed to win. That the swine could go to hell. So she stopped nagging (p.259).

He showed us how Ove expressed emotions. Backman repeatedly writes: “People always said Ove saw the world in black and white. But she [his wife] was color. All the color he had” (p.45). When his 3-year-old neighbor girl gives him a picture she drew of him and her family, he finds that “Everything else on the paper is drawn in black, but the figure in the middle is a veritable explosion of color. A riot of yellow and red and blue and green and orange and purple” (p.212). After the mother tells him that the girl always draws him in color, “It takes several seconds before Ove collects himself” (p.212). Later, we see the drawing proudly displayed on his fridge. Near the end, the 7-year-old girl next door whispers, Granddad, to him, and we get this restrained and poignant description:

Ove stands quietly in the hall, poking his house keys against the calluses on one of his palms … Ove stays in the hall with his jacket on and stares emptily at the floor for what must be almost ten minutes (p.321).

Omniscient point of view also gave Backman the ability to move around in time without regard to whether Ove was actively remembering anything about the past, which brings us to another strength of this breakout novel.

Masterful Use of Backstory

Alisha Rohde summed up our conclusions well: “Backman is very good at weaving in the backstory all over the place as we follow Ove’s thinking and his getting through each day (or trying to end his days).”

One of the questions we ask is, “Does the novel contain a scene of backstory in the first 50 pages? If so, does it belong there? How does it increase or decrease tension?”

A Man Called Ove starts with four pages in the present, goes back three weeks, and by page 36 we are into the distant past. The backstory starts right after we’ve discovered that this persnickety curmudgeon who has been talking tenderly to his dead wife still checks the radiators every night to make sure she hasn’t turned up the heat—six months after her death. So we are ready to mine his past to learn how he got to this point.

Given that Backman describes Ove as having “never been the sort of man who went around remembering things unless there was a need for it” (p.37), it helps that we don’t have to rely on him for the full story. We can experience Ove, not as a mere malcontent with anger issues, but as a man who feels out of his time and who’s been in a life-long battle against uncaring bureaucracies that have caused him and his loved ones serious pain.

Our Top Takeaways

A Man Called Ove is an excellent book to read:

if you are writing a “smaller” or more domestic story, and want an example of how to do that and still make the stakes feel high, and the story feel big;

if you are curious about omniscient point of view done in a way that feels as intimate as first person;

if you want to explore backstory done well.

A number of Dissectors also found themselves profoundly encouraged in their own writing. Jan O’Hara said:

I feel more empowered and ambitious with regards to my own writing. It’s reassuring to know that a story about a superficially normal man in a superficially normal neighborhood, written in a dry tone of voice, can tackle big themes, evoke big emotions, and be commercially embraced.

Let’s keep the dissection going! Have you read A Man Called Ove? Do you agree or disagree with our conclusions? Do you want to say something about the novel that hasn’t been said here? What are other ways authors can bring us deeper into the world of an emotionally closed-off protagonist? Are there other books you recommend that do no-antagonist, warm omniscient, or backstory well?

Natalie Hart is a writer of biblical fiction and of picture books for children who were adopted when they were older. Her father was an entrepreneur, so she never intended to be one herself, but she’s about to independently publish everything. First up was As Real As It Gets, a picture book about a boy who is scared to yell “You’re not my real mother,” but can’t help it, and then how she reacts. Next will be The Giant Slayer, an imaginative retelling of the first eight years of adventure in the life of the man who would become Israel’s King David. You can follow her on Twitter @NatalieAHart, and on Facebook.

Comments

I absolutely loved this book. I’m not a crier when reading…but I’m not ashamed to say Ove brought on the tears. And laughter as well. I would say a big part of it was bc he reminded me of my dad, after my mom died. So spot on. And so were your dissections! Great job everyone!

Thanks, Ellen. I laughed and cried a lot while reading this one, too. Although it wasn’t part of the official dissection, we couldn’t resist talking about the Ove-like men in our lives — telling great stories of our own. It’s a great side benefit of the novel.

I cried as well, Ellen. Perhaps more than any book I’ve read in years, if not forever. Though different in many ways, Ove brought to mind my father, who passed away two years ago. After the discussion, I mailed a copy to my sister in hopes she’s experience that same cathartic closeness to him.

To me that speaks volumes to how successfully Backman was at breathing life into his curmudgeonly protagonist.

I haven’t read it, but we recently saw the film and I love this breakdown. I thought the acting was stellar in the film. I’m not usually a big fan of subtitles, but I very quickly forgot all about them, and was totally immersed. I was really surprised by the emotional wallop.

As a side-note, I can’t recall the last book I read in omni POV. It must’ve been a while. Though the book that started it all for me (LOTR) is written in omni. I certainly have nothing against it.

What I realized even after the group discussion was that most of the books that spoke to me in my youth were written in omniscient POV. Classics such as The Secret Garden and To Kill a Mockingbird come to mind quickly, but I’ve no doubt there were countless others as well.

As far as closed-off characters, the one that most sticks with me is Ordinary People, a book I loved as an adolescent and which greatly influenced my own first novel. Many people have seen the Best Picture film based upon it (or should, if they haven’t). But the novel itself is a gem, filled with sharp dialog (pages of the movie script were copied nearly word-for-word) and incisive insights into a protagonist and his parents, all of which are locked off from each other and their own grief.

These examples lead me to believe “warm omniscient,” and “close-in third person” (a topic for another day), both which provide intimate narration ever so slightly detached from the characters, offer an untapped richness under appreciated in today’s popular first-person style. I hope more writers explore omniscient voice more and discover, or rediscover, its power.

What a wonderful post, Natalie! Such a thorough and well-written dissection synopsis. Although I’ve not been able to fit active participation into my schedule just yet, I’ve lurked the Book Club page on every selection.

A while ago…I don’t know…six months?…yeah…about six months ago, I was talking with a local friend about the overall gist of my book. Not a synopsis, mind you, just a gist — a synopsis lite. And from that taste, they recommended I read A Man Called Ove.

At that point in the conversation, others joined in and the focus shifted and never returned to the book, what it was about, or why I should read it. Of course, since I didn’t write it down because I was certain I’d remember, I forgot all about it.

That is, until the book came up as the club’s selection. Again, there were scheduling conflicts, but it reminded me of the book, which made it to a scrap of paper and was tacked to my bulletin board.

Your article now makes me want to buy it and study it. I’m not writing in third, but mine involves a lot of backstory that needs to be deftly woven in. Plus, it seems like a really fascinating read.

Thanks, Natalie. Those of us who write stories centered on family dynamics often struggle with how to create high stakes out of typical family conflicts. Backman does it so well here. To borrow a phrase from Donald Maass, there is a lot of micro-tension in this story. The most satisfying aspect of the story for me was Ove’s transformation from a grouchy, bitter man bent on ending his life to a person who finds affirmation and love in the fact that others need him and rely on him. I look forward to our online book discussions and you, John, Elissa, and Jan (I hope I didn’t overlook anyone) always do such a fantastic job in moderating our discussions. I find we get more out of a book by being exposed to the perspectives and opinions of others. Thanks for this great essay. Well done, Natalie.

Ove is one of my faves! I listened to the audio book, and I thought the narrator was fabulous in his ability to capture Ove’s curmudgeonly antics while also revealing the tenderness of his heart … even if his heart is wrapped in many layers of tinfoil.

Thanks for this beautiful breakdown.

I think Backman is brilliant simply because he is never fancy or pretentious. I LOVED My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry. His characters are, to me, the perfect mix of bumbling, charming, broken, heartbroken … and they all carry a small, smooth river rock of hope in their pocket.

Now fully caffeinated, I realize one of the three examples I previously mentioned, To Kill a Mockingbird, is actually narrated in first person, not omniscient. Aside from the further embarrassment of mistaking an aspect of what happens to be my favorite novel, I realize why I recalled it that way.

Harper Lee’s rich narration achieved a similar affect as Backman did in Ove by telling a young girl’s tale in first person, yet with the reflection and maturity that comes from sharing the story from the protagonist’s perspective at some point in the future, when she is able to understand the nuances of what unfolded in the past.

Isn’t this why we love writing and find stories so compelling? There are so many paths to sharing eternal truths of our existence and our interactions with the world we share.

These thoughts by the “Dissectors” (made me think of “Dementors” for some reason, which you folks clearly are not) may encourage me to resume reading Ove. I stopped about halfway through when the pattern of yet another way to stop him from committing suicide became clear. I felt like a hamster running on a wheel, a reader in an unending loop that took me nowhere. Thanks for the insights.

Well, if you pick it back up, I hope it lives up to our hype! It definitely does go somewhere :-) It’s always interesting to me how books that sing for one person leave another cold. There was one Dissector (definitely not Dementor! they give me nightmares) who saw Ove as a flat-out bully throughout. And there have definitely been aspects of other books that would’ve stopped me reading if I hadn’t “had to” to participate in the dissection.

If you prioritize a *fast* pace, then, indeed, this would feel very slow to you, David A. Although there is cat kicking and suicide attempts, feats of strength in the face of an oncoming train and neighborhood intimidation of an abusive husband, it isn’t what I’d call action-packed :-)

What a nice addition to WU this piece is. I, too, have missed participating in the dissections, knowing it is my loss. (Like Mike, I lurk around your postings.)

I had missed or forgotten Don Maass’s point that life can function as the antagonist and last night watched Manchester by the Sea, which is clearly this as well. The film may walk away with number of Oscars. Thanks for pointing it out.

If it’s a new trend, the construct of my WIP may be well-timed. Three excellent people of different cultures called to resolve a situation struggle when they realize they act on views that horrify, even endanger, the others.

Great article Natalie. You captured the essence of our discussion on the book. I smiled when reading Vaughn’s post about the movie. We discussed that too and how we felt that the actor did/ didn’t fit our image of Ove.

I have been thinking about the book a lot since reading it and our discussion (it is one of those books that stay with you for a long time).

It’s such a great study on how to write about mundane subjects like checking street for trash etc and yet create so much micro tension that it becomes a page-turner.

I am throughly enjoying our discussions in the dissection group and kudos to the moderators for keeping it interesting, supportive and educational. We have read and dissected lot of good books in this group. And Ove certainly was one of the best

I was sorry to miss this discussion (too much else going on at the time). I particularly wanted to delve into Bachman’s techniques for making this seemingly simple novel so powerful. Thanks for the summary, Natalie!

I first read Ove for my book club and didn’t think much of it. Our discussion changed my mind–one reason why I love talking about books with other readers and writers. My blog post on the book is here if you’re curious: http://bit.ly/2lqiZ5A

Good post. I think sometimes the impact of writing groups and classes is damaging. It’s now in vogue that the close POV is practically a must if third person is used. The advantage, as mentioned, is the intimacy achieved with the character, which can bond the reader to it.

But it’s frustrating when these approaches crystallize into rules. The narrator is always present in third, that’s the advantage of it. In close POV, the narrator recedes. But in many stories, the narrator’s voice is crucial. I have not read Ove, but based on this review it seems he’s not a man of deep self awareness. That’s part of his charm. So having some pleasing narrator interpretation of him is important.

Also, having a narrator that can jump into other heads can be a great advantage, even when it comes to bonding us to the protagonist. How other characters view our character can go along way towards how the reader views them.